


The Things That Voice Does To Me

by therecognitionscene



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therecognitionscene/pseuds/therecognitionscene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertolt Hoover is a freshman in his second term at college, keeping himself busy with classes, soccer team practices, and fantasies of his handsome Coach, Erwin Smith. Levi, an older student who drifts from bed to bed, latches onto Bertl and quickly discovers the teen's obsession with his Coach, using that knowledge to tease the sensitive boy and drive him crazy. Precious sweaty bab.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things That Voice Does To Me

“Stay at practice any later, and people will think you're up to something.”

Bertholdt's face, still slightly pink from the intense workout he and the rest of the soccer team had just been put through, turned an even darker shade of red as he glanced over at Levi. “E—excuse me?” He asked, trying to keep the hammering of his heart from becoming too deafening as he closed the door to his dorm room behind him. 

“I said, if you keep lingering in the locker rooms after the rest of the players have left, then everyone is going to assume that you and _Coach Erwin_ \--” A slight sneer broke Levi's typical bored drone and shot a bit of guilt down Bertl's spine. “--are fucking. Which is unacceptable, seeing as you've been mine ever since Reiner got too busy to give you the time of day.” The shorter man sat up from where he had been laying on Bertholdt's bed, stretching his spine as he fixed that look on Bertl that the taller boy found equal parts thrilling and unnerving.

The dark-haired freshman dropped his eyes, staring at the suddenly fascinating pattern on his dorm room carpet. “Reiner just... He has a lot on his plate this term, is all.” 

And his friend certainly did. It kept them from spending a lot of time together that semester, which had certainly taken its toll on shy Bertholdt. Reiner had been just about his only friend since orientation day that past fall, and Bertl had yet to become close with anyone else on campus even though it was already early spring. He'd grown sad and lonely and, with nothing else to take up his time, had decided to join the school's soccer team after seeing an admittedly not-so-convincing flier half hanging on the bulletin board in the cafeteria. 

Not long after that, though, he'd met Levi. An older man, in his mid-to-late twenties—he never would own up to an exact age-- who had come back to school because 'why the fuck not'. He was notorious for getting around, hopping from bed to bed and lover to lover. Even Erwin was known to have slept with the shorter man; it was at one of the Coach's parties where Bertl and Levi had first met, after all, and Bertl knew for a fact that the two were close. For some reason, though, Levi had temporarily shifted his attentions to Bertl on that fateful night, and after a rough fucking session that left Bertl a bit dazed and craving more, Levi took a liking to the teen. He'd spent a few nights with Bertholdt in his single-dorm room since then, winning Bertholdt over despite his detached demeanor and his quasi Napoleon-complex and effectively hiding the fact that he jumped from bed-to-bed because he couldn't afford housing. Bertl eventually figured that out after a few 'dates', but never mentioned it; if Levi wanted to discuss it, then he'd bring it up. 

So the two existed together whenever Levi found his way to Bertholdt's bed, and Bertl tried to remain nonchalant about the whole affair and stave off jealousy (which flared up nastily whenever he knew Levi was with Erwin).

“Whatever the reason behind your bull of a boyfriend deserting you, the point of the matter is you're mine now. I thought I made that obvious enough when I started reaming you.” He smirked as Bertholdt's eyes widened, rising from the bed in one fluid motion and stalking—yes, that was the best way to describe it-- stalking towards the taller boy, still in his training uniform and sweaty from practice. “I talk to Erwin all the time, you know that. We're close. _Very_ close. And he's told me how much you stare. How often you let a ball fly by you into the goal because you've gone all dreamy-eyed while ogling his junk.”

Bertholdt's mouth fell open-- had he really been that obvious?-- and he was about to deny it when Levi's smaller hand wrapped around his wrist. It was a firm hold, not overly tight, but after just a few weeks Bertl knew what it meant: control and power on Levi's side, and happy submission on Bertl's. He gazed down at Levi's face and swallowed audibly as the shorter man's dark eyes bore into his.

“He's a handsome fucker, I'll give you that. And that voice of his is almost enough to make some men cream themselves right then and there. But I didn't think that you would fall for him. Not when you have me to take such good care of you.” He cocked an eyebrow, flexing his fingers around Bertl's wrist and tugging so that the taller boy bent at the waist. Their faces were almost level now and Bertholdt could feel Levi's hot breath on his chin. It drew shivers up and down his spine and turned his blood to molten magma coursing through his veins beneath tanned, olive skin.

“Do you fantasize about him, Bertl? Hmmm?” Levi's voice had dropped to a low, smooth purr, the glint in his eyes the only sign of the pleasure he was taking in winding Bertl up. “Is that why you linger on the field while the rest of the team hits the showers? Hoping he'll come up to you as you're straggling along? One of his hands will fall onto your shoulder, and you'll turn around...”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“And there he is. Almost as tall as you, but fair: blond haired and blue-eyed, with a serious expression permanently locked on his face. Not that you don't like it, though: it gives Erwin an air of power that makes the team respect him without question, and it makes the rare smile that does cross his face all the sweeter.

'C—Coach Erwin,' you stammer out, the soccer ball clutched tight to your chest. “S—sorry, I was just, ah-- Had to tie my shoe before I got going.'

Erwin simply gazes at you for a long moment while you grow more and more nervous. You should have hurried after the rest of your team, shouldn't have hung around. What had you really hoped to accomplish? You would never make the first move on such a handsome older man to begin with, let alone on your coach. And did you really think that Erwin would ever want you? Of course not.

But apparently, you're wrong, because the way Erwin's watching you is different from normal, somehow. You're able to sense it. Like electricity in the air around you. You feel yourself growing hotter and hotter as the seconds tick by with no words from the older man.

'I'll just, ah, head to the locker rooms and--'

'No.'

Erwin cuts you off with a simple, firm word, quiet in reality but echoingly loud in your ears. 'N—n—n--no?' You stammer in response, wide eyes blinking as sweat beads on your forehead.

'Having trouble understanding, Fubar? It's a simple command.' Erwin arches an eyebrow and reaches out to tug the soccer ball from your grasp. It flies a short distance across the field when Erwin tosses it, your nervous gaze flicking to watch your make-shift shield roll away.

'D—do I need to run more drills, Coach? I know I didn't p—play so well these last few games, but I'm t—trying, really, I am.'

'The problem with you, Bertl, isn't a lack of effort, but rather a lack of obedience. You get so flustered if you make a mistake, and you allow it to ruin the rest of your performance. It stops you from listening to my instructions and obeying them when you need them most.' Erwin runs a critical eye over you: tall, sweaty, a baby freshman standing in front of him, considering you and everything he's able to see in you. 'What you need to work on can't be accomplished with laps or work-out routines. You simply need to find a way to be able to focus through your nerves.... And I think I know how we can practice that.'

Erwin presses a large hand—cool on your overheated skin-- against your cheek, cupping it and keeping you from flinching away as he leans in and brushes his lips against yours ever so gently.

You nearly collapse right then and there, don't you? Knees going weak at the minimal contact as a nervous whimper slips from your lips. 'C—Coach...?' You feel dizzy and weak, disoriented as Erwin's clear gaze meets your hazy one. 

'Focus, Bertl,' Erwin commands, his voice breaking through some of the fog that has settled thickly over your mind. 'Focus on me. On my words. I'm in charge; I'm in control. All you have to do is be a good boy and listen. If you do, if you obey every instruction and do whatever I tell you, then you'll be fine. Understand?'

Maybe it's Erwin's tone, or the heavy weight of your Coach's hand against your flushed face, but you feel as if the older man isn't just talking about soccer anymore. After all, he's _kissed_ you. Not properly, but still... You're confused as you nod your consent, showing Erwin that you'll do as the man says. Or at least, try to.

One of those special smiles crosses Erwin's face, just for you, but it's gone in a matter of seconds. 'That's what I like to see. Just keep focusing on my voice. Listen. Obey.' His hand falls away from your cheek and he takes a step back; you lean forward unconsciously to try and close the space, to no avail. 'On your knees,' Erwin commands coolly, folding his hands on the small of his back and spreading his feet to a wider, more solid stance.

You're not able to find the words to question; all you're able to do is to give another nod, weaker this time, as you sink to your knees. The gap between your soccer socks and shorts leaves your knees bare, and the damp field feels cool and hard underneath you. You shift slightly; if you have to sit there like that much longer, you're certain it will become uncomfortable, but you keep quiet as you turn to look up at Erwin.

'Take my cock out.'

Your mind goes blank. 'E—excuse me?' You ask, sure that you've misheard your Coach. Erwin couldn't have possibly said that. You're just not focusing properly. Maybe this was the lesson? The practice session? 

'I know you heard me, and I know you know that I don't like repeating myself.' Erwin remains stoic and almost distant as he gazes down at you while you fumble with piecing together what you know you heard with what you thought you knew about your Coach. With fumbling hands, you reach up to obey; tugging Erwin's sweatpants and boxers down enough until the man's cock slips free of the clothing, hanging limp in front of your face. 'Now, make me hard. Only use your hands for now.' Erwin reaches down to tap two fingers against your temple, snapping you out of your trance. ' _Focus_ , Bertl. Control yourself. Control your reactions.'

'Y—yes, Coach,' you say, sucking in a shuddering breath as you tentatively drag your fingertips along the soft length. When you receive neither praise nor criticism, you try the move again, adding more pressure to the drag of your fingers. That earns you a small twitch from the man's length and you nearly sigh in relief. With one more dart of your gaze up to Erwin's eyes—which are locked firmly on you and your actions-- you take Erwin's prick fully in hand. It's a heavy weight in your palm as you squeeze it experimentally. 

You begin to stroke it, though you're awkward and clumsy with it and it takes you a few moments to get used to it. But soon you have Erwin half-hard, watching with fascination as blood rushes to the organ and makes it swell. You're sure your cheeks are as red as your Coach's cock by the time you tug Erwin to full-hardness; precome has started to ooze from the tip and has spilled onto your fingers, making them sticky and mixing with the sweat on your palm. 

'Very good, Bertl. How are you doing down there?' Erwin presses his fingers against the nape of your neck and he feels the rapid pulsing of your blood underneath the overheated skin. The corner of his mouth turns up in an almost-smile as he sweeps back your unkempt hair from your sweaty forehead. 'You managed your task despite your obviously overwhelming case of nerves. But that was just the first step. Now you need to use your mouth, and get me off. If you can do that-- keep yourself focused on the task, keep yourself from spooking and running off-- then you'll be able to take those skills onto the field and into the next game. You're a promising player, Fubar; I don't want to have to cut you from the team.'

There's little you can do besides nod and open your mouth. He's your coach, your fantasy, and the soccer team has become such an important part of your life; you can't give it up now, can you? Of course not. So you lean in, lips parted, sweat dripping down the back of your neck, and that first lick across Erwin's leaking tip is _heaven_. Salty and bitter and strong, the taste coats your tongue and lines your mouth and you can't hold back a moan.

Erwin understands; he knows how you really are. All the dirty thoughts that pass through your mind and leave you covered in come, panting, late at night in bed by yourself. He pushes his hips forward, not so much an invitation as a command, and you obey. You wrap your lips around the head and suck. A hand combs through your hair and fingers twine through the dark, damp locks. You dart your eyes up and meet his gaze, yours full of desire and shame and willingness, his calm and cool and almost detached. 

“Go on. You can take more than that.'

You're not sure of that, but you're determined to try. You loosen your jaw before you press forward; your lips slip past the rim of the head and already your mouth feels full to bursting. Both your hands have moved to grip at Erwin's thighs and you can feel the hard muscle there, hidden underneath layers of clothing and skin. It sends a wave of heat through your already overheated body and you moan around what little of Erwin's cock you already have in your mouth. Your Coach's hand flexes on the back of your neck before he attempts to force you forward, but you do it yourself in a quick and almost panicked motion.

Erwin is thick and you gag slightly, but you can't pull back. You can only go forward. So after a moment of adjusting, with tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes from your lack of air, you press forward again. You manage to slide down another inch, but that's your extent, and for a moment you're worried it's not good enough. But when you glance back up again a deep azure fire has lit up Erwin's half-lidded eyes and you know that you're doing well.

This spurs you on, and for the first time in quite some time you feel fully focused. The beating of your heart has faded to a low thumping in the back of your head. All that exists in that moment is Erwin and the heated length half-buried in your greedy mouth. Erwin's started pumping his hips forward, but you don't panic; you simply relax into it and accept everything he's giving you. It's a liberating feeling, to not worry about anything, and before you know it Erwin's grip is tightening and his thrusts are stuttering. 

'Swallow it all,' he bites out, and you're _eager_.

Your Coach's come fills your mouth in long gushes, hot and even headier than the drops you'd slurped up earlier. You moan like a whore as Erwin fucks his release down into your throat, the wanton sound dying out as you swallow it all down.

When he pulls out, a thin line of drool and come connect your reddened lips to his glistening dick. He swipes his thumb along your mouth with a satisfied smirk and you lean up towards his touch.

'That's a boy. Think we've solved your little problem, wouldn't you agree?'

You nod enthusiastically, and at his command you pick yourself up as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants. 

'Go hit the showers, Fubar. And be sure to bring this new outlook of yours to practice tomorrow. I expect you to perform at this level again.'


End file.
